A Backward Glance at Eighty eBook

With the argument for granting the right the city
seeks I am not here concerned. The only purpose
in view is the casual recital of a good time.
It has to do with a delightful sojourn in good company,
with songs around the camp-fire, trips up and down
the valley, the taking of photographs, the appreciation
of brook-trout, the towering mountains, the moon and
stars that looked down on eyes facing direct from welcome
beds. Mention might be made of the discovery of
characters—­types of mountain guides who
prove to be scholars and philosophers; of mules, like
“Flapjack,” of literary fame; of close
intercourse with men at their best; of excellent appetites
satisfactorily met; of genial sun and of water so
alluring as to compel intemperance in its use.

The climbing of the south wall in the early morning,
the noonday stop at Hog Ranch, and the touching farewell
to mounts and pack-train, the exhilarating ride to
Crocker’s, and the varied attractions of that
fascinating resort, must be unsung. A night of
mingled pleasure and rest with every want luxuriously
supplied, a half-day of good coaching, and once more
Yosemite—­the wonder of the West.

Its charms need no rehearsing. They not only
never fade, but they grow with familiarity. The
delight of standing on the summit of Sentinel Dome,
conscious that your own good muscles have lifted you
over four thousand feet from the valley’s floor,
with such a world spread before you; the indescribable
beauty of a sunrise at Glacier Point, the beauty and
majesty of Vernal and Nevada falls, the knightly crest
of the Half Dome, and the imposing grandeur of the
great Capitan—­what words can even hint
their varied glory!

All this packed into a week, and one comes back strengthened
in body and spirit, with a renewed conviction of the
beauty of the world, and a freshened readiness to
lend a hand in holding human nature up to a standard
that shall not shame the older sister.

A DAY IN CONCORD

There are many lovely spots in New England when June
is doing her best. Rolling hills dotted with
graceful elms, meadows fresh with the greenest of
grass, streams of water winding through the peaceful
stretches, robins hopping in friendly confidence,
distant hills blue against the horizon, soft clouds
floating in the sky, air laden with the odor of lilacs
and vibrant with songs of birds. There are many
other spots of great historic interest, beautiful
or not—­it doesn’t matter much—­where
memorable meetings have been held which set in motion
events that changed the course of history, or where
battles have been fought that no American can forget.
There are still other places rich with human interest
where some man of renown has lived and died—­some
man who has made his undying mark in letters, or has
been a source of inspiration through his calm philosophy.
But if one would stand upon the particular spot which
can claim supremacy in each of these three respects,
where can he go but to Concord, Massachusetts!